Empty Without You
by Lovesy
Summary: Syed feels the loss of Christian. Sort-of-sequel to my other fic 'Belonging In Arms'.


**Christian has gone :( **

**This began as a little half-dream/half-day dream I had. I decided to turn it into a sort of sequel to my other fic 'Belonging In Arms', with parallels/contrasts running throughout. **

**I dedicate it to the extremely lovely meg-icy, as I probably never would have turned it into a fic without her encouragement, so thank you! x**

**Special mention as always to my wonderful and talented beta Clarkie, and thank you for your continued support! x**

* * *

><p>I lay still, the darkness like a comforting and protective blanket around me. With my eyes closed to the truth, for a moment I can pretend. Pretend that everything is as it should be. I can ignore the lightness of feeling behind me, that if I were to move or make a sound there would be no synchronised shifting and sliding of weight behind me. But it is the silence. The silence I cannot hide from, it screams at me from the darkness, reverberates inside my mind and echoes throughout my body leaving only emptiness within and without. There is no familiar and rhythmic build and expel of breath beside me, soothing and giving pattern and strength to my own. I feel the panic rise as the realisation registers and I am once again lying in the cold and dark of reality. I feel completely lost and there is nothing to reach out to, nothing to connect with.<p>

I was found, in the feeling and belonging of arms around me. But now there is nothing, nothing but the cool and insensate sheets around me. He is not here, and as I lay alone in our bed every part of me craves his presence, his touch, his voice, his sight. He is gone but he is not gone, he is in me, he is still _in_ me. And as much I want, need, ache to have him here with me, the part of him that will _never_ leave me, floods my existence with a pain so immeasurable that it is beyond feeling itself and leaves me in the bleak arms of despair. The part of him that is interlaced and irremovable in my memories and in my thoughts, that has seeped it's way through every pore, every muscle, every inch of flesh that had been worshipped by his warm caress. That has embedded itself so deep in my heart that it can never be removed without breaking it apart. The beat silenced, the blood stilled and run cold.

It is wrong, it is all so wrong. Even when everyday I am confronted with the truth of it, I still cannot believe it. I thought I knew where I was heading, where _we_ were heading. I felt so safe and secure in the truth and knowledge of what we had, in our connection, in our love. It was strong. I felt it. It consumed me, flooded me with a purpose and serenity and an assuredness that I had never felt about anything before. I had complete faith in it's enduring power, in it's purity, in it's beauty. I had complete faith in him, in us, to overcome what ever tried to tear us apart. We'd fought so much already and we made it, we were good, we were strong, we had a future. We were being tested again, but I never doubted for one moment that we wouldn't get through it, wouldn't come out the other side, together. We were getting married, his life and my life mapped out as one. I don't know where I am heading anymore, I don't know anything anymore. Except for one thing, I love him. I love him so much, and he loves me. I know he does. But it isn't enough, that's what he said. It isn't enough. What does that mean? His love for me isn't enough. He walked away. He could walk away. How could he do that?

I see his face as he left. Feel his finger upon my lip, the last touch of his that I hold on to, the last time my eyes held his. The hurt laying desolate in those dejected eyes. I let him down, I know. He needed my support. I reacted badly, I couldn't be what he wanted me to be, what I should have been. I was angry and scared, so scared. The shattering of glass still ringing in my ears, cutting through my nerves and raising my defensive barriers. Ugly voices bellowing, voices impossible to reason with. A violence. A spiralling, erupting, out of control onslaught, an intent to irrevocably hurt, to hurt him, us, our home. The swing of a bat, anger and hatred colliding with cherished flesh and muscle. The unimaginable horror of it plays nightly for my viewing.

I've done wrong and I can't fix it. I can't even try, he won't let me. I lay muted, the silence rebounding back at me. I can't talk, there is no one to talk to, just the sound of my own thoughts trapped in their endless cycle. I want to talk, the lost words of regret, of anger, of hurt whip through me like a storm but there is no release, no respite. They mix with the need, the longing, the worry, the uncertainty, the love that has lost it's way, lost it's source, it's destination. It builds until my body can take the pressure no more and my solitary form tenses with the strain. Feelings form on the surface in the shape of tears and I squeeze my eyes tighter shut, but there can be no stemming of the wave as it washes over me.

And I am here again. Sobs racking unremittingly through my body. I feel angry at myself, for doing this again and again. I can't control or make sense of the conflicting cacophony of emotions that threaten to drown me. The guilt that somehow I have done this. I let this happen, no I _made_ this happen. If only I had seen how much he was hurting, if only I had realised, understood, been stronger, been better, been someone other than me, weak. But I _am_ me, and he loved me for who I was. But it wasn't enough, I wasn't enough. I feel angry at myself for being like this, for feeling sorry for myself, for wallowing in my own misery and the self-absorption others would see. I can't keep doing this. I must be stronger, better. I must move on. I also feel angry at them, at the people who have somehow injected their poison into our lives and then walked away unscathed. And him, lastly I feel angry at him, that he would leave without warning, without any discussion, like I didn't deserve it, like what we had didn't deserve it, like it was nothing, after everything we had been through.

Has he moved on? My mind frets at what moving on may mean, that he could let me go so easily and find something, someone else to fill the whole, to find their place within the circle of his arms. But my heart knows the truth, for he still resides there, and I can feel his pain as acutely as it were my own. For the millionth time I wonder where he is, what he's doing, what he's feeling, what he looks like at this exact moment. I imagine him lying in a unfamiliar bed somewhere, unfamiliar sheets rubbing coarse against his soft skin. I imagine him alone and lost as I am, and my heart aches to fill the void. I hate to think of him like that, the hurt he must be feeling to leave like he did. I have an overbearing urge to reach out and touch him, to smooth the lines from his beautiful face, to wrap my arms around his waist and hold him close as his head rests in the groove of my neck, it's contours angled only for him and his perfect fit. The need is so strong it pulls at every nerve ending in my body, and quickens the pace of my frantic heart.

I don't want to cause him more pain but I can't let him go. He should be here, but he is not. There is no reach of fingers, no delicate caress along the curve of my spine, no soft breath relaying warmth and love at the sensitive skin at the back of my neck. I imagine him behind me, as he had lie beside me, night after night after night. For a moment the strength of the image, of the memory, of the feelings it generates fools some desperate part of me that maybe it could be real, that it is within my grasp if I could just reach out…

I open my eyes and turn around as if expecting to find some imprint of him in the side of the bed where he should be. His presence so strong and real to me that there should be some magical manifestation of it forever occupying the space next to mine. But there is nothing. I find nothing but emptiness. Instinctively I roll over onto him, where he _should_ be, and breath in his scent, but it is gone. Only the materialistic smell of linen and soap greets my senses, it's essence driving any last pathetic notion that he is still here out of me, until there is nothing but the emptiness. And it's not ok, nothing will ever be ok. We are not together and it's feels so completely and utterly wrong. I can't breath. My muscles tense. My heart and soul and body combined ache as they call out to him. Nothing. There is nothing in reply. No connection. Nothing. It's gone, all gone.

My skin tingles with the memory of his touch, and its loss becomes painful. I feel it as tangible hurt, like my skin is shedding in layers at the unthinkable notion that it will never feel his touch again. It spreads through my body and reaches my heart, and I have no idea how it keeps beating. I feel it is dying, I am dying. I am losing myself. I need…

I need to think, I need to feel, I need to make sense of this. I need to talk. I need him. I don't know what is true anymore. It feels like I know nothing, everything I trusted in has gone. I don't understand and I can't accept. I feel unsure and unsafe. I can't move on, I can't let go. I don't want to move on. I am lost, just nothingness in front of me. He is so far away. I need to look into his eyes, look long and deep into their green depths, see all that he is and see myself reflected back at me. I need to see the truth. I need to hear his voice, hear the words that make sense, that give meaning. I need him to hear me, to see me, to feel me. I need… him, I need _us. _I need to feel that connection. Anything, I'll take anything. I just need to know that he is there, that he is real. That this is the nightmare and I can wake up. That _he_, that the past year, has not been a dream.

I need to talk to him. I spin back round and reach for my phone on the bedside table. The digital display glares mockingly at me, flashing the early hour of time that speaks of nothing but desperation and loneliness. My fingers find his number with no need for thought, the only thought being that I have been here before, rang this number many times before and there was never an answer, never a connection, but please this time, this time maybe…

It rings and rings. The harsh and inhuman sound steals almost all the last shreds of hope from my very bones and I sink into the cold mattress, but I'm still clutching the phone tightly to my ear as I hear the tone. Words suddenly fail me. I hear my quivering breath leave a message of it's own. I panic, time is running out, the channel that is open nearly gone. All will be gone.

"Christian.." It's more a whisper than a word, but the sound of it echoes through the silence. Nothing I could say could ever be enough. It suddenly seems pointless. He wouldn't answer my calls in the light of day, why would he answer my call at 3am in the morning?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I just…" I stumble.

"I… I couldn't sleep." It was the truth and it seemed to say everything that I needed to say at this point in time, in the quiet of the dark. "I wanted to hear your voice."

"I'm sorry." There is no more time. The connection is broken by the intrusion of the beep.

A ragged sigh escapes me and I realise I'd been holding my breath. I curl up on my side, facing where he should be, the phone still grasped tightly between my hands. Sleep. I should sleep. I feel so unbelievably weary, my eyes lids almost as heavy as the weight on my heart. I need to be able to function away from here, away from this room, this bed, to move in the light of day. To go through the motions of normalcy, like everything is ok, like I can do this. I can do this, I can. For Yasmin's sake. I see her gorgeous, innocent face smiling up at me, her dark eyes wide and trusting and needful. She needs me. I have her, my daughter, I am not alone, not really. I want to protect her, to keep her safe, to do my best to give her what she needs to grow, to flourish, to be who she is and everything she is capable of being. More than anything I want her to be happy and content, and to know how much I love her. The love I have for her was so instant, so pure, so natural, so powerful, it fills a place in me and gives me means and purpose to go on. But it is not _that_ place, the place reserved only for him, that can be filled only by him. And as much as she warms and sweetens the coldness inside me there is still the bitter emptiness and I am still alone, I feel it still, I am alone in the darkness. My thoughts cloud and drift as sleep creeps around the corners of my being, tantalising and teasing but never taking full hold, never giving what my body needs.

Suddenly I am pulled back. A shrill song without melody piercing through me as if it came from within my thoughts themselves. As my mind regains focus I realise that it comes not from within my mind but within the clasp of my hands around my phone. The realisation shoots a bolt of shock and fear, of want and need cursing through me. I daren't look at the screen but I can't not look.

Christian.

The name reads clear and bright amongst the glare of the screen. I draw a sharp breath. My thumb hovers momentarily over the answer button, I feel the precariousness of it's position, the fear of the response it will bring, but that it will press is inevitable and mere seconds pass before it does, the need greater than the fear.

"Sy?"

The heavy silence is broken, and I feel my body exhale and soften with a dizzying and breathtaking relief at the simple syllable his quiet voice speaks. I let the sound resonate through me, so familiar to me, yet unheard and unfelt for so long.

"Sy? Are you there?"

"I'm here." The words spill in a shake from my lips.

The voice goes quiet, but I can still hear him. Hear the wavering in the rhythm of his breathing. I press the phone against my ear, hear his breath as if he were beside me, I can almost feel the warmth against my skin. It soothes me, yet makes me ache at the same time.

"I… I couldn't sleep either." There is almost the sound of a chuckle at the end of his words, but it rings empty, filled with only sadness.

The tide of things unspoken begins to swell inside me, but it is too high and too unfathomable to tackle tonight and I let it wash over me, leaving only a raw, basic need, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he pauses, the return of the silence speaking a thousand words that say otherwise. "You?"

"Yeah." The weight of the word matches his. It's not a total lie, on the surface I am ok. "I just… I miss you."

His only answer is a heavy sigh, and I feel it's pain descend through me. I know what this is and I don't want to add to his pain with pleads. I know the loneliness that grips you like a vice in the shadows and hush of night, the thoughts that run untempered and uncontrollable through your head. Nothing to distract from the desperate need that fills the space around and within you. He wanted to hear my voice, to feel that connection, that basic need, just as I did.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called, I…"

"Christian." I interrupt as he echoes my previous message back at me. I'm losing him again. I can hear the regret and the crack in his voice as he reconnects with mine, and it hurts him. Anytime now he's going to cut off the source of his pain. But I need more, so much more. "Please… wait, don't go yet, I need to… to understand… I'm sorry." I falter, the ease of which it was to be together now in stark and heartbreaking contrast to the awkwardness of being apart.

I grasp at something tangible, a small grain of comfort and enveloping warmth. "It's good to hear your voice.

"You too." He breathes again. "I'm sorry… for the way I left. It was just too…"

"I know. It was." I can't keep the pain out of my voice. "Christian?"

"Yeah?" He swallows hard.

"Call me again." I am thankful it comes out more as an assurance than a plea. Something that should and needs to happen.

"Goodnight Sy." His tone dips low and with his parting words the ache builds again, and it is only then that I realise it had even diminished with the soothing resonance of his voice.

"Goodnight, Christian." I hope and pray he feels the strength of emotions that lay beneath the softness of the words.

He is gone. The silence ensues and as the light on the screen blinks out, I run a finger down its smooth surface, holding it close beside me as if it were my only life line. My connection, to him. _Goodnight Sy_. I play the words over, feel his voice resounding quietly through me and my mind drifts and ebbs away from more turbulent waters as my body relaxes. My eyes fall shut and my breathing deepens, letting sleep finally take hold, for a little while at least. Until the presence of him in my nightly dreams brings me back with a start to the emptiness of my waking dawn. He is gone.


End file.
